


stress baking

by bibliosexual



Series: Tumblr fic [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cookies, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Russian Translation Available, Soup, Stress Baking, baker!Stiles, wooing with food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10793025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosexual/pseuds/bibliosexual
Summary: Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stilesthatwell, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you."





	stress baking

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlet I posted yesterday [to my tumblr](http://bibliosexxual.tumblr.com/post/160166545846/you-bake-when-youre-stressed-and-sometimes-you)! From the prompt, “You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” 
> 
> A few readers messaged me saying they couldn't see the majority of the fic on tumblr mobile, so I've put it up here in case that problem persists.
> 
> This fic is now available in Russian as well thanks to [bullshitily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bullshitily/pseuds/bullshitily)! You can read the translation [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5543267).

When Derek shows up at Stiles’ back door that morning with a basket full of about three dozen cookies, all carefully iced to look like Batman and Spider-Man, Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just gets up from the kitchen table and opens the screen door, and then he looks down at the basket for a long, long moment, and then he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.

He looks kind of… unkempt. He’s wearing the same sweatpants and lacrosse hoodie he’d had on two days ago when Derek saw him at his mailbox, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, and it’s obvious he hasn’t shaved in a while because there’s some actual stubble there. Derek didn’t think Stiles was even capable of facial hair. It only adds to his attractiveness, but still, Derek can’t help but be concerned.

Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles _that_ well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.

“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”

Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.

“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you. I mean, no one else in the neighborhood even talks to me.”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. “You could have a secret admirer.”

Derek isn’t sure why Stiles is being so stubborn about this. It’s not like Derek is standing here accusing him of toilet papering his house, or egging his car. It’s cookies. It’s nice. He’s shared them with everyone at work, so his coworkers actually talk to him now instead of just shooting him scared looks in the hallways. “Stiles, they’re always decorated like comic book characters. You might as well have signed your name on them.”

Stiles slaps a hand over his face. “Ugh, it’s too early in the morning to be this embarrassed. I feel like such a creep.”

Derek isn’t sure what to say to that, but it turns out he doesn’t have to say anything, because Stiles groans again and shuts the door on him.

*

That evening, Derek leaves a tupperware bowl of butternut squash soup, which is the only soup he knows how to make, on Stiles’ doorstep. After a few minutes’ thought, he also tapes a little note to the lid that says, “Thank you for the cookies. You’re not a creep. Feel better soon.”

*

The next morning, there’s a new batch of cookies sitting on his front porch. Green icing, this time. Derek is pretty sure they’re supposed to be the Hulk. Stiles has also washed and returned Derek’s tupperware dish.

Tucked in with the cookies is a letter, which is a first. “I think I suck at adulthood because your soup was the first vegetable I’ve eaten all week. It’s really good. You should be a professional chef, dude.” Below that is a shaky sketch of Derek, identifiable by the huge angry eyebrows, in a chef hat. Then: “P.S. Sorry I shut the door in your face. P.P.S. My best friend’s wedding is this weekend. Not only am I making the cake, I have to give the best man speech. It’s one of the most important days of Scott’s life and I have to talk in front of like two hundred people and not mess it up, nbd. HA HA yeah right. Baking helps, but then I have all these cookies. So now you have all these cookies. Thanks for not thinking I’m creepy.”

*

Derek goes to the library and checks out a book called _100 Splendid Soups_.

This time he leaves Stiles some black bean soup and a note that says, “Good luck. I know you won’t mess it up.”

*

The next day, Stiles leaves him Wonder Woman cookies. Derek leaves him split pea soup.

*

Saturday must be the day of the wedding, because Stiles’ Jeep is gone from the driveway all day, and there are no cookies.

*

On Sunday morning, there’s a knock on the door at six in the morning, right as Derek’s finishing up his pre-running stretches in the living room.

It’s Stiles. He doesn’t have any cookies with him this time. He looks a lot better than he had a few days ago—no shadows under his eyes, and he’s wearing non-sweatpants clothes that actually almost fit him. He’s kept the stubble, which Derek likes more than he cares to admit.

“Hi,” Stiles says.

Derek nods. “Hi.”

Stiles holds out his tupperware. “Here. I just came by to return your soup dish.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause.

Derek drums his fingers on the tupperware lid and scrounges around for something to say to keep Stiles there. “How’d the wedding go?”

It’s the right thing to ask. Stiles smiles and relaxes, leaning against the doorpost. “It was awesome, best night ever. And you were right. I didn’t mess up the speech. I made Scott’s mom cry, but in a good way. And people laughed at my jokes, so that was cool. Oh! And here, I’ll show you the cake.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling, biting his lip as he concentrates. It’s strangely appealing. “Okay, here we go. Check it out.”

Derek doesn’t know much about cakes, but it’s definitely impressive. Crisp white, three tiers, with intricate swirls of white and silver frosting that look like flowers blooming. It’s surprisingly elegant, given Stiles’ usual repertoire.

Derek grins at him. “I didn’t know you were capable of making any non-superhero-themed baked goods.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles shrugs good-humoredly and sticks his phone back in his back pocket. “I was gonna make it a Captain America shield, but Scott and Kira vetoed that.”

Derek snorts, because of course. “Well, it’s beautiful. You’re really talented.”

Stiles ducks his head, looking pleased. “Thanks, man.”

There’s another long silence. Derek just wants to _look_ at him, and he supposes it must be okay because Stiles is looking at him, too, kind of like he’s thinking about saying something.

What he ends up saying, though, is just, “Well, anyway, I guess I’ll get going and let you go on your run.”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs. “See you around.”

Stiles turns and gets as far as jogging down the porch steps, and Derek gets as far as the first pang of quiet disappointment, when Stiles suddenly stops dead on the last step and turns back around. “No, you know what?” he says, sounding determined. “I’m going to man up and do this.”

Derek is baffled. “Do what?”

Stiles comes back up the stairs. When he’s right in front of Derek, he reaches into his jacket pocket and whips out something round and flat wrapped in wax paper and slaps it down on Derek’s palm.

Derek unwraps it carefully, the paper crinkling under his fingers. It’s a chocolate chip cookie—at this point he’s not even a little bit surprised—that Stiles has decorated in slightly smudged white icing that spells out… something. “Is this some sort of coded message?”

“Uh,” Stiles says. “It’s supposed to say ‘Go out with me.’ I suck at cursive, and I was kind of in a rush. Wanted to catch you before you left for your run. You get up unfairly early.”

“Oh,” Derek says.

“So this is me… asking you out… on a date,” Stiles adds when Derek doesn’t say anything else. “But only if you want to, obviously. I was kind of thinking—hoping—the soup thing was a romantic gesture, but that sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud. I mean, it’s _soup_. And you barely know me, and…”

Derek takes a deep breath. “It was a romantic gesture.”

Stiles gapes for a few seconds. Then it seems to process, and he fist-pumps. “Seriously? That’s kind of weird but sweet at the same time. So do you want to get breakfast with me?”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, relieved. “I do.”


End file.
